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Alles Gute

Today was a good day, despite being rudely awakened before 9 a.m. by a German and half-German singing down the phone. They meant well and I admit, once I got over the initial shock, it was nice to hear them sing. And then go back to sleep.Fresh stocks of tea arrived after I got up three hours or so later. I’d run out and was coming dangerously close to using even my reserve emergency supplies for use in worst-case situations only.
The young fella was reluctant to leave the Kita when I picked him up, but only because he was already having fun, and he perked up relatively soon afterward as we headed to Mauerpark on the bike.
There we set a flying pig loose into the sky and the young lad was enthralled as he held on and watched it soar above. It was a pig kite, quickly named Pinky the Piggie. We called Pinky back down but the piggie was having too much fun and so we had to wait. The inconsiderate pig eventually got tired and came down again.After a stop off at the playground for some sliding, climbing and digging, we went home for a dinner of snails and roast chicken. Both were reduced in Lidl when I went to get bread and milk this morning. You never leave Lidl with just bread and milk. I once bought a boat in Lidl, rollerblades another time. I thought we could have the snails as starters but the young lad wasn’t interested. He actually thought I was messing when I told him we’d be eating snails. But he lashed into the roast chicken, had more of it than I did, gobbled down all his broccoli and lashed into the spuds, all washed down with a glass of the finest milk.
I had the same, though less chicken, more spuds, and washed down with a glass of Médoc. Damn good. I had four or five snails. Not great.Jenny called around with a sunflower and another bottle of wine as we were eating desert and the young fella was of course delighted to see her. He was in his element, cursing like a pirate – there was a “fucking fly” flying around, and the ice-cream was “shite” – and afterward he drew pictures, finished a jigsaw and played with his cars.
Once Jenny left I’d to read him three books – two wasn’t enough – one about firemen, police and construction workers, another about dinosaurs, and another about a witch that nearly gets eaten by a fire-breathing dragon. That’s his favorite. He almost knows the words by heart.
He went to bed without complaining for probably the first time ever, said he wants to go back to Mauerpark again tomorrow, smiled happily and fell asleep clutching Moley, his best friend. (Moley’s clutching him now as I write this.)
Everything’ll be fine.

Comments

happy belated birthday! to make up for the belatedness, here are some birthday wishes in two additional languages: lá breithe shona duit and doğum günün kutlu olsun! sounds like you had a good one. how old are you now?

re: snails - yeah i thought you were messing too, when you wrote about it on twitter.

"and afterward he drew pictures, finished a jigsaw and played with his cars." - geez, he gets more stuff done in an evening than i do in 3 days.

Thanks! Haven't had chance to reply before now. I'm impressed with your Irish! (Your Turkish and English too of course - both are better than mine.) To answer your question - too old. Only a German would ask me again. I wouldn't have believed it only a German did.Yeah, he's a busy fella. Very busy. He starts a lot of things though, doesn't finish anything. Maybe that's the trick. It's a good one. I don't think I'll bother finishing anyth

Spudnik Ó Fathaigh has called Berlin home since St. Patrick’s Day 2008, when he arrived doe-eyed and thirsty after a ferry from Ireland and long drive through France. The doe-eyes have since been surpassed by those of his son, as doe-eyed as they come, but the thirst is yet to be cured.
Three stolen bikes, innumerable bike-theft attempts, eight mobile phones and countless (and counting) Sternis later, der Irische Berliner – as he’s also known – spends his time poking his nose where noses aren't welcome and bestowing the benefits of his foul language and gutter speak on the locals.
Of course, he’s a local now too. When not working on amusing alliteration combinations or ignoring Betreten Verboten signs, Spudnik rants, rages and reports to the best of his frightening ability.